The Small Stirring Within
by PythonFan
Summary: As Angel nears the end, she wonders what it all meant.


_"We can all be angels to one another. We can choose to obey the still small stirring within, the little whisper that says, Go. Ask. Reach out. Be an answer to some one's plea. You have a part to play. Have faith.… The world will be a better place for it."  
--Joan Wester Anderson_

Angel coughed, trying to eradicate the pressure on her chest.

It was futile, she knew. The weight wasn't going away. It would only get heavier.

She surveyed her little hospital room, dim in the dwindling evening light. Brightly colored pictures, torn from a coloring book, decked the walls, complimented by crepe paper streamers that drooped from the ceiling. Vases of flowers (some hand-picked, some store-bought) stood on nearly every flat surface. She'd forced everyone, including Collins, to go home and get some rest. Truthfully, she was a little tired herself.

As her eyelids grew heavy, though, thoughts pestered her. Collins looked haggard, sleep-deprived and thin. Roger and Mimi, probably in the midst of another fight, looked exhausted. Mimi's once-bright eyes had been dull and bloodshot; Angel was pretty sure that she was using again.

Joanne and Maureen, also experiencing problems, had been reduced to sullen silence during their visit. Maureen's spontaneous, dramatic outbursts were a thing of the past. Joanne's brilliant, bright personality had darkened considerably.

And Mark. As the one who held it all together, the young filmmaker looked lost. After living most of his life in upper-middle-class suburbia, his world was crumbling down around him.

Angel drew in a shuddering breath. Her time was coming. She'd tried to make the world a brighter place for those she met. But what came of it? Here she was, dying in a hospital bed, and those she cared for most were miserable. All of them.

Was there any point to it all? Did her happiness and cheerfulness and kind words really make a difference? The world now looked, if anything, darker than ever.

She wriggled under her blankets, trying to find a comfortable position.

---

Suddenly, she was…standing? Outside? Angel glanced up, the early fall air gently blowing her hair from her face. After weeks in the hospital, the breeze was an unfamiliar and shocking sensation.

And damn…she felt _good_.

When she'd recovered enough to take in her surroundings, she found herself at the entrance to a graveyard. And not just any graveyard. She hadn't been there since the day of the funeral ten years ago, but she immediately identified it as the place where her mother was buried.

But…what was she doing here?

While puzzling over this dilemma, an unfamiliar voice spoke up from behind her.

"Hello, Angel."

She turned to see a young man standing, dressed in a black turtleneck and khakis, hands in pockets. He was almost awkward-looking, brown eyes and wild brown hair.

"Uh…hi."

"I'm Jon."

"Jon." She repeated, squinting through the glare of the setting sun in an attempt to see more clearly. "It's nice to meet you, honey, but…I don't…"

"You want to know why you're here and not in some hospital bed."

"Well, I…how did you…? I mean…yeah."

Jon shrugged, grinning bashfully. "What can I say? I've got a gift. You're here because you wondered if you were having doubts." He paused. "You were wondering if your life made a difference."

Angel, still in mild disbelief over the entire situation, was rendered speechless. She could only bite her lip and stare at the young man in front of her.

Jon didn't seem taken aback. He tossed his head in the direction of the graveyard. "Come on; how 'bout we go in? I think this is a good starting point." With that, he made his way towards the entrance.

Angel, still lost, could only follow after a moment's hesitation.

---

As they made their way through the rows of headstones, Angel knew what they were approaching.

The pair simultaneously halted silently in front of a small, simple headstone. Angel knew what it read. His mother, Gabriela's, name. The dates of her birth and death. And that was it. There hadn't been money for anything more.

"Take a look." Jon instructed gently.

"I know what it says." Angel murmured, surprised by the edginess in her voice. After all these years, the memory of those hellish five months still brought back memories. She'd come from the doctor one day, speaking words like 'cancer' and 'terminal.' Months later, she was gone.

"No, Angel," he said, softly but insistently. "Look at the dates."

Forcing her eyes downward, Angel took in the simple grave marker for a moment before wrinkling her nose.

"That's wrong."

"What's wrong?"

"The dates. She didn't…she died when I was fourteen. The year's wrong."

"Not in this world."

Angel stared, mildly confused and mildly agitated. "Pardon?"

"The date's correct. Gabriela Dumott-Schunard died 25 years ago."

"That's not possible." Angel insisted.

"And why is that?"

"Because I wasn't born 25 years ago."

Jonathan paused, staring at the ground before glancing up to meet Angel's eyes. "Correct. Gabriela died childless."

Another stretch of silence ensued as Angel tried to figure out what kind of drug was giving her this kind of hallucination.

"You're confused." Jonathan stated from beside her.

"I'd say so." she admitted.

"Angel, you wondered earlier if your life made any sort of difference. Right now, we're standing in a world in which you were never born." After a beat, he continued. "Today, you'll get to see what an Angel-less world looks like." He turned his attention to the grave. "Gabriela's abusive boyfriend shot her while high on cocaine."

"No. She left him. That was…my father. She left him." Angel insisted.

Jon simply shook his head. "Not in this world." He licked his lips, then shot a sideways glance at Angel. "Why should she leave? There was nothing better out there for her. No reason to try and make a better life for herself…like a child, for instance."

He let the insinuation hang.

Angel took a moment to collect herself, her mind a blur of emotions. "She left him…because she was pregnant with me?" she murmured softly, almost to herself.  
Jonathan didn't answer her question. "There was no reason to leave." he reiterated quietly, his attention focused on the stone. After a moment, he glanced up, a kind smile returned to his face. "Come on," he said softly. "Time to move on."

"But I…" Angel protested weakly.

"No, no…we're on a time schedule." Jon insisted, walking back toward the cemetery exit. Angel had no choice but to follow obediently.

As they passed through the gates however, a strange sensation overtook Angel's senses. Suddenly she stood (with Jon) in the narrow, dilapidated hallway of an apartment building in what she assumed was a bad part of town.

"Where are we?"

"You'll see…come on." He strolled by several doors before s halting in front of #32. Without hesitation, he grabbed the knob and turned. The door swung open without so much as a sound.

Angel wrinkled her nose, perplexed. No one in these parts of town kept their doors unlocked. Nevertheless, she followed Jonathan into an equally dilapidated, but empty, apartment. She turned back as the door closed behind her, and was shocked to find the door a mess of locks, all in working order, holding the door tightly closed.

"Follow me." Jonathan's voice roused her from her thoughts as she turned to see him creeping toward a closed door at the other end of the room. She trailed behind, hesitant to see what the new room held.

For the second time in as many minutes, Jon gently pushed the door open to reveal a dark bedroom. Angel though that it, too, was empty until a strange sound caught her attention.

More silence. Then the sound again. It took several moments for Angel to recognize it as sniffling. As her eyes adjusted, Angel was able to make out a tiny figure curled up on the bed, head buried in pillows, dark hair everywhere. Sobbing.

Angel let out a long, horrified breath. "Mimi." she whispered.

Jonathan nodded. "Mimi Marquez. Ran away from home, and her alcoholic father, at age 16. Escaped to the Lower East Side. She didn't have enough to made ends meet, though, and was forced to come back after four months. Daddy still hasn't forgotten." He paused, motioning to the bedroom door. "By the time she got back, her mother had gone with her siblings. He blames Mimi. Locks her in here for weeks at a time. On his good days, he's passed out on the couch. She doesn't get to eat, but it sure as hell beats the bad days." He glanced at Angel. Seeing the horror etched on her face, he seemed to decide to stop talking.

Angel took deep breaths, trying to halt the wave of nausea that overtook her. "I helped her when she came to the city." she murmured. "I gave her money for heat and food. I helped her to find a job." She shook her head. "I was always ashamed that the only thing I could find for her was a gig as an S&M stripper. I just…"

She was interrupted as she heard a door bang open from somewhere else in the apartment. Mimi stopped sobbing immediately and snapped to attention like a cat. The pure terror in her eyes made Angel's heart ache. "_MIMI!_" the voice roared, harsh and cruel to the ears. "_I swear to god, girl, I'm gonna fuck you up so bad…_" Loud footfalls, getting louder, approached the door.

Angel turned to Jon, terrified. "I don't want to see this." she begged. "Please, let's go. Let me leave."

The next thing she knew, she and Jon were standing on a very familiar landing.

Still breathing heavily, heart still racing, Angel tried desperately to collect herself. When she'd regained half her wits, she turned to Jonathan. "Thank you. I just couldn't stay to…" she looked around, a little surprised. "We're at the loft," she said softly, "at Mark and Roger's."

Jon smiled. "I thought you'd enjoy that." He made a grand, sweeping gesture, indicating that Angel should go first. "Go ahead. Take a look."

Angel made her way to the door, hauling it open. The familiarity of it all made her heart beat in anticipation. Mark sat at the table, hunched over the Village Voice as usual.

But the sight of him made Angel gasp. He looked entirely unfamiliar; thin, hollow-cheeked, and looking about ten years older than he should. There was no smile on his face, only a scowl; he was a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Mark." she whispered. "What happened?"

"Mark's been dumped by his girlfriend for another woman. His parents irritate him, he can't find a job, he can't find a girl. And he's the lucky one of the group. He's the one people go to when they want to talk to someone about their problems. Mr. Cohen is his friends' only means of support. And, let's face it, that kind of thing takes its toll on a guy, especially a guy who has his own problems. There's no one to share the emotional load." Jon shrugged. "And over the past few months, it's made him bitter and angry."

Angel though silently of the words of support she'd offered to Mark. The two of them had been the outlets for the wide range of emotion felt in the group. Now Mark was doing it all on his own.

"Things between him and Maureen have been pretty rocky since their breakup. She comes over to ask favors and advice every now and then, but as you can see, it hasn't gone so well…so you won't be seeing much of her or Joanne. Sorry."

"That doesn't sound like Mark."

"Well, does that _look_ like Mark? The one that _you_ know?" Jonathan glanced at the sullen young man buried in the paper. "Mark and Roger are the only ones around here on a regular basis. Mark doesn't want to give her the time of day; Roger doesn't give a shit. No one wants to make up and move on. What can you do?"

Angel sighed. "Point taken." She looked around. "Hey, speaking of…where _is_--?"

She was interrupted by the banging open of a door. Roger himself emerged, also looking thinner. Sicker. And…god. Oh, god. That glazed look. Angel had seen it on Mimi before, and she'd hoped she would never have to see it on Roger.

He was back on the drugs.

Nausea swept through her again and she felt dampness materialize in the corners of her eyes. "Oh, no…" she whispered tearfully.

Jon watched as Roger stalked across the room. Mark glanced up. The pair said nothing, only glowered at each other.

Breaking the silence, Jon spoke. "As you know, Roger got clean after April. That was while Mark was still…you know, Mark. And once Mark started to crumble, so did he." He raised an eyebrow at the two, now making a concentrated effort to ignore each other, surveying them critically before continuing. "At the beginning, Mark tried to get him out of the apartment. After a while, though, he stopped caring. Roger hasn't left the loft in a _long_ time." He stuffed his hands back into his pockets and turned to Angel.

Angel laughed uneasily. This one, she could deflect. "It wasn't me that got Roger Davis out of the loft. That was Mimi."

"Where's Mimi? And why doesn't she live in Mark and Roger's building?"

Another uncomfortable silence. "Because…I wasn't there."

Jonathan half-smiled, an I-told-you-so look plain as day on his face.

The sudden _bang_ of the loft door opening caused all four inhabitants of the room to turn.

For the first time that day, Angel grinned ear-to-ear.

"Collins." she exhaled happily.

"Evenin'." Her boyfriend said to Mark and Roger. But it wasn't his usual voice. It was thin and a little hoarse.

Truthfully, Collins, upon closer inspection, looked only tired and sick. He balanced a brown paper grocery bag on his hip. Mark got up, but only after hesitating, to relieve him of the food. "How you doin'?" the filmmaker asked the tired intellectual, but it was only a pleasantry, delivered without any sort of real concern or even a smile.

"Gets chilly out there after nightfall." For the first time, Angel realized that Collins was shivering and without a coat. Why wasn't he wearing the one that she had…?

Oh.

Collins continued, "And my arm always acts up when the weather gets like this. Ever since the robbery at Christmas."

Roger spoke up quietly from where he'd collapsed on the couch. "You never did get that fixed up right. It needed more than gauze and an Ace bandage."

Collins shrugged halfheartedly. "I don't know, man. What are you gonna do?"

Angel felt tears sliding down her cheeks, unable to compose herself. If was bad enough to see her friends like this. Collins was the straw that broke the camel's back.

She turned to Jon desperately. "Put me back." she demanded. "I want to go home."

Her guide considered her for a moment. "What have you learned, Angel?" he asked simply. With that, he turned on his heel, pulled open the loft door as if it weighed no more than a feather, and disappeared.

Angel followed him at a brisk pace. When she was out on the landing, however, she'd found that he was nowhere to be seen.

"Jon!" she called out. "Jonathan!" No reply. "I know now! I _know_! I matter, Jonathan! _I matter!_" But the words echoed through the empty stairwell without a response.

"I made a difference, Jonathan! _Jonathan_!"

---

Slowly, she became more and more aware of the soothing shushing noises. Angel felt as if she were in a deep pool, rising closer and closer to the surface before finally breaking through into open air…  
She opened her eyes to see Collins hovering over her, his face a mix of concern and amusement.

He smiled gently. "There you are. Now, I know I've been gone for a couple hours, but did you really find another man to replace me?"

Angel took a deep breath, trying to reacquaint herself with her surroundings. "What was I…?" she murmured drowsily.

Collins closed his eyes lightly, mimicking. "Mmmm…Jon…I matter…Jonathan." He reopened his eyes to smile at Angel good naturedly. "Jonathan. It's a pussy name anyway." he added with a melodramatic roll of the eyes.

Angel smiled, the joy of being back sinking in. She felt better than she had in weeks. "What are you doing here, anyway? I thought I told you to go get some rest."

Collins leaned forward, placing his forehead against hers. "I did. And then I had to come say goodnight before visiting hours were over." he leaned in and kissed her gently. He lingered, face hovering close as he murmured, "I'll see you tomorrow. Anything I can bring?"

"Bring the others." Angel requested. "I've got to talk to them."

"I'm sure they'll be here. Until then, save your strength."

"Mmmkay." They kissed again, and Angel let her hands drift up to Collins' cheeks, down his neck to his shoulders. He was real. All of him. And…

"Your coat."

"Hmm?"

"You're wearing your coat. The one I bought you."

Collins eyed her suspiciously, "Why wouldn't I? It's freezing out there after nightfall."

"Nothing. Never mind." She smiled contentedly before lightly pushing him away. "Now shoo. I need my beauty sleep."

Collins shook his head. "You're beautiful enough as it is. But you should rest." He kissed her once more, softly on the forehead, before backing away to collect his things. "See you tomorrow, baby. Love you."

"Love you, too." And with that, Collins slipped from the room.

Soon after, Angel drifted back to sleep, ushered back into her dreams by the words echoing softly through her head.

_I matter._


End file.
